The Second Prophecy
by optigirl101
Summary: A Prophecy. Another way for Sauron to be defeated. An easier way for him to return. All he needs are the twins that the prophecy speaks of. They were split up, their memories repressed, to keep them safe until they were older. But fate is rarely so kind..
1. Prologue

The land that lay to the north of the town of Bree was very strange land. It was filled with many small, isolated villages hemmed by two large forests, one to the north, and one to the south. Those who dwelt there were suspicious folk, for they had kept to themselves since the fall of Arnor, and so on the rare occasion that men did venture that way, they were met with cold, hard stares, and were all but chased out of the villages. As the years had rolled by, visitors got rarer and rarer, for tales spread about the very distrustful and queer people that lived there, and men avoided venturing past the dark forest that lay to the North of Bree. In time, the true name of that land was forgotten, and it simply became known as the Segregated Land.

The lack of travelers in these lands resulted in few being aware of the strange (or, stranger than usual) goings on inside its borders. Orcs began appearing in abundance in the Year 3001 of the Third age, and continued to scour the lands for a number of years afterwards, attacking villages, killing their inhabitants, and torturing and killing their children. While the Rangers of the North defended the villages as best they could, often preventing many an attack before it reached a village, they were not welcomed by the folk of the Segregated Lands. Though they never did anything but help, they were cast out of the villages like the Orcs as soon as the fight was over. Thus, it was with some relief that the Rangers withdrew from the lands after the Year 3007, as the Orcs began to lose interest in the villages they had been attacking for six years, and the villages were happy to settle back into their millennia old routine of isolation.

But it is during that dark time that this story begins, in the summer of the year 3004. It begins in the forest to the north of Bree – an old forest known as the Border Forest, for it separates Bree and the surrounding country from the Segregated Lands. It begins with a company of Orcs, and a young injured child with the fate of the Middle Earth resting on her shoulders…

* * *

AN. The 'Segregated Lands' are completely made up. They are my own creation, made to suit my own needs.

On the other hand, I do understand that this is very short - it is just necessary to set up the background for the story.

I am updating with the first chapter later today.

Please R&R :)

-Optigirl101


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion that surrounded her, she kept running. Though she barely had the energy to dodge the thickets of trees and bushes that dotted her path, she kept running. Her blonde hair had been ripped by brambles, her once sturdy dress was torn in many places and she wore no shoes. Blood covered her leg, stemming from a knife wound on her left thigh. Her right arm hung limply by her side, barely responding when she tried to move it. But despite all of this, she kept running. For she knew what would happen if she stopped. No matter how hard things seemed now – they would be worse if she stopped.

It was hard to believe how quickly things had changed in a little less than two hours. Two hours ago, her life had been fine. It hadn't been perfect, but at least then she knew when she would be getting her next meal, that she would have a roof over her head, a bed to sleep on. Two hours ago, there had been someone in the world who cared where she was. And now there was nothing. Nothing but constant fear and pain.

They had had no warning. It had been an ordinary day. She had been scrubbing the floors, and Bromley had been sitting in his chair, smoking, and ordering her around (in a brusque, but kind way) like he usually did. When there had been a commotion outside, she had stayed indoors, continuing her work, for it was one of Bromley's rules that she was not allowed to interact with visitors. That rule probably saved her life – or at least, prolonged the inevitable.

As she ran further, she noted vaguely that she no longer recognized where she was. The tall trees were closer together, pressing up against each other, letting even less sunlight through, making it even harder to go on. Not that any of that mattered. Nowhere was safe for her – she could not seek refuge in any of the villages – they had cast her out once, and they would do it again. No, all that she could do was keep fleeing. Just keep running. Now that she thought about it, running in itself was probably pointless. With nowhere to go, and Orcs hard on her heels, all that running was doing was making things worse for when they did catch up with her. But she still kept running.

At Bromley's shout of "Run Girl, Run!", she had looked outside, and seen a large company of Orcs, swords drawn and shouting battle cries descending on the cottage like bees to honey. And without a second thought, she had turned and run out the back door.

There was no way Bromley could have survived. He was very old, and he had lived alone (aside from her company) for the better part of thirty years. She had never seen any evidence of weapons in the cottage before.

She stumbled, her injured leg catching on a tree root. She cried out in pain as she fell to the ground, remembering at the last minute to break her fall with her un-injured hand. But the impact jolted her broken arm. As the pain shot through her, she screamed, and lay in the dirt, unable to even attempt to get up.

"I have to get up! I have to keep going!" But though she tried, her body had given up on her. The desperate flight into the woods, the broken arm she had got after trying to twist away, the deep wound on her thigh that had been inflicted with a sword as she struggled, the two hour run – it had all proven too much for her. Indeed, she was surprised that she had lasted this long.

But still she tried. Using her un-injured arm, and her good leg, she dragged herself - slowly and painfully - toward the edge of the wide trail.

'If I can just reach the trees, maybe' she thought desperately, 'Maybe they wont notice me'.

But it was not to be. Just as she reached the edge of the trail, she felt a trembling in the earth. Swiftly, rumbling grew stronger and louder, until she could hear it for what it was – the thundering strides of a band of Orcs, Orcs that were on the hunt. The trees seemed to draw closer together – even they had the sense to be afraid.

As they drew closer, she closed her eyes. She could only hope that it was quick - for even in her short isolated life she had heard terrible stories about Orcs 'playing' with their victims before they killed them - and whatever they did, she would be powerless to stop them. The rumbling was so loud, she could hear the individual footsteps, the clink of their weapons, and their heavy breaths.

They were nearly on top of her, just about to round the bend in the path behind her. And she closed her eyes.

There was a loud guttural yell, and the rumbling stopped. More yelling and grunting, in a language she couldn't understand, and then one set of pounding footsteps, and she felt herself being grabbed roughly, and turned over. Her arm burned like it was on fire, and she screamed in pain, but she still didn't open her eyes. They jeered, reveling in her pain, but she didn't care. She was sobbing, waiting for the pain to be over, waiting for everything to stop, but it didn't. Instead, she was picked up, and thrown against the tree. Barely conscious, she registered that the monsters were talking – but though she could not understand a word, it sounded like they were arguing. As the pain receded somewhat, she heard another Orc approach her – and felt it's disgusting heavy breath on her face. She could bear it no longer – and opened her eyes.

Less than a foot from her face was the most horrific, ugly thing she had ever seen. She had seen them from far away, but this was the first time she had seen one up close – and it was terrifying. It's face, though hidden mostly by a helmet, was twisted, misshapen, and a disgusting colour – gray with splotches of red, glistening with oily sweat. It's chain mail was splattered with blood, and it's mouth was open in a leering grin, and she could see flesh stuck in between it's teeth. She could not help it – she screamed. Its grin only grew wider and more terrible, and it turned back toward the others – the other six Orc's behind it that still appeared to be arguing. Suddenly, it spoke harsh grating voice, in a language that she could actually understand.

"Don't kill it yet! We must take it back to our Master…but now, let's play." She felt sick. They weren't going to kill her – they would torture her, in more than one way – but there was no way she could survive whatever they planned. It would be a slow, painful death.

The other Orc's resumed their furious argument, until the one crouched in front of her stood up very suddenly and rounded on them, barking orders, and growling. He was evidently the leader, for they all quieted down, though several of them had their hands on their swords. The leader turned back to her, and crouched back in front of her, its putrid breath hitting her in the face. It lifted it's hand, and stroked her face, all the while leering at her. She was paralyzed, unable to move even if she had been possession of fully working limbs. It swiftly dug its nail into her face, but she barely felt the pain. It lifted it's nail, with her blood on it to it's lips, and licked it. It shivered with pleasure, and she shuddered.

"We're going to have lots of fun with you," it said, and she closed her eyes once more.

'Please,' she prayed, 'Somehow, let someone save me. Or let them kill me now'.

* * *

Aragorn was not happy. His turn for duty in the Segregated Lands had rolled around at the beginning of the summer. None of his Rangers enjoyed this particular duty – after all, while they were feared and distrusted in most towns of men, rarely were they forcibly ejected from villages that they had saved from being ravaged by Orcs! Of course, the Rangers had learnt by now not to even ask for a bed, food or water from the folk of the Segregated Lands. But this was not the reason that he was unhappy. Oh no! He should have been pleased, for he was on his way _out_ of these cursed lands, ready to be relieved by another couple of Rangers who would take their turn for the next few months. But less than a day out from the edge of the forest, he had found Orc tracks. And they were less than an hour old.

So he followed them. Away from his rendezvous point, back into the forest. He could not tell if they were running to try and reach a village, or whether they were chasing something – someone. But he hunted them, and in less than half an hour, came to a spot where the wide hunting trail turned a corner, and continued out of sight. He heard, rather than saw the Orcs around the corner – seven of them, if he had discerned correctly from the tracks. The wind was blowing towards him – he was downwind of them, so they would have no idea what was coming. He smiled grimly as he ever so silently eased his bow off his back, and withdrew an arrow from his quiver. He did not relish this part of his duty, but it was necessary. Taking one last deep breath, he rounded the corner, and fired.

The confusion was immediate. By the time the Orc's realized that one of their own was down – for Aragorn's shot had hit it in the middle of it's head – he had killed another. And as they drew their swords and charged, uttering a loud guttural war cry, he had killed another before he discarded his bow, and drew his sword. He met them head on, swinging his sword and chopping off the first ones head in one smooth strike. He ducked the sword that swung clean where his shoulders had been moments before, and kicked towards its owner, hard. He felt satisfaction as his boot made contact, while he parried a blow from another sword. Getting past the Orcs defenses, he disposed of it easily before turning his attention to the remaining two. The one he had kicked had recovered, and in an odd display of unity they both charged at him at the same time. He parried, parried, thrusted – connected! Then thrust, parry, parry, kick! And while the final Orc standing staggered backwards, Aragorn thrust one last time.

He glanced around him at the scene of devastation, sheathed his sword and sighed as he turned around to retrieve his bow. Now he could go home! But as he turned, he heard a sob – and it had not come from one of the dead Orcs. He turned back around, hands flying to the hilt of his sword – and stopped. For there, huddled in a wretched heap at the base of a tree, was a child.

The girl was virtually covered in blood and dirt. One of her arms hung limply from her side at an odd angle, and there appeared to be a deep wound in her thigh. There were tear-tracks down her face, and she was shaking. Aragorn stared at her for a moment in shock. She couldn't have been more than eleven years old.

His mind filled itself with horrible possibilities as he stared at the child – how long had the Orcs had her before he had arrived? What had they done to her? And how had this girl got here? Right on the outskirts of the Border Forest? There were no villages within a days walking distance of here. But he shook these thoughts from his mind as he took a step closer to the girl.

She gasped, and shrank back into the tree, obviously terrified, but as she did, she cryed out in pain. Aragorn stopped, and very slowly crouched down.

"It's alright little one." He said gently. "You're safe now. They're can't hurt you anymore." But the child stayed pressed against the tree, unmoving.

"I promise that I will not hurt you. My name is Aragorn, I just want to help you," The girl slowly relaxed a fraction, but he still didn't move. She was obviously in shock, and a great deal of pain.

"What is your name, little one?" he asked quietly. Slowly, she looked up, and pain filled green eyes met his gaze.

"Melody." She said in a halting, hoarse voice. "My name…is Melody". And overcome by fear, pain, and shear exhaustion, she slumped back against the tree, unconscious at last.


End file.
